Sunder
by Des Darling
Summary: Queen of Nemesis, Serenity has spent the last nine years plagued by her lack of memories and the sinking realization that she does not belong amongst the Black Moon Clan. After a man enters her life, claiming to be her love from a time before, she realizes that the reality she thought she knew is a beautiful lie.
1. Ocean

Many sleepless nights on the road full of coffee and music bred this piece. Enjoy!

 **Sunder**

 **I: Ocean**

It crept towards her slowly but surely: a tide that was silent and cautious only until it knew that there was no escape. Against the shoreline it shattered and seized the thing it had been stalking all along with a mighty roar, engulfing its prey in whitewater and dragging it back into the depths of the ocean. By then, it was too late to hope for another fate, to best the demon; there was only an infinite ocean and fleeting time.

The thought came to her in the same predatory way, slowly unfurling, a crescendoing melody in the depths of her mind, until it struck and consumed everything in its path. A wicked idea rooted itself in her brain with no intent to let go, and she began to slowly wither as it feasted on her very soul.

 _I don't belong here._

Mindless chatter, the usual fare, filled the room with a pleasant hum. On either side of her, her family—though she was beginning to have her doubts—discussed trite matters that were all interspersed with soft clinks of metal utensils against porcelain. The weather had grown rather awful in the recent days. A knife cleaved through the flesh of a chicken. When the next soiree would be. The hilt of a spoon being rested on the lip of bowl. If she was ready to bear children. A glass stirring rod rattling against the sides of a teacup.

 _Wait._

"Oh," she blushed, realizing that the last question had been directed at her. "It seems rather early for that, doesn't it?"

Across the table, her husband raised a white brow and paired it with the slightest smirk, almost amused at her embarrassment.

"Six years? I think not." Esmeraude replied, drowning the contents of her plate in sauce.

True, most queens had flourishing broods of heirs to care for by the time they reached her age, but she had remained steadfast in her decision to only consider having a child when the proper time arrived. Only now did she realize that perhaps all along her conscious had dissuaded her out of the idea that she didn't belong in her family.

Buying herself time to formulate a worthy retort, she quickly cut off a sliver of chicken and guided it into her mouth, taking care to chew extra slowly. As words, _excuses,_ swirled about in her mind, she silently cursed Esmeraude and her tendency to argue whenever the opportunity arose. Many an unpleasant conversation could have been avoided if the woman had any mind to hold her tongue.

"Surely you've grown impatient, Demando." Esmeraude directed the topic at the man seated at the head of the table. "Every other king has an heir except for you. What would happen if you were to grow ill?"

"Then I should hope that the others have learned very well what it means to cross me." He mused, chasing his words with a torrent of wine.

Esmeraude frowned. "Still, does it not concern you that your..." Her lips twisted in disgust. "... _wife_ isn't willing to bear you a child?"

The pleasant, light-hearted air around him froze instantly. His smirk hardened into a grim line, his brows knitting together. Serenity could visualize the storm clouds settling above his head, gray and brooding and purring with thunder. As if pondering the question asserted by his general, he sat quietly, watching the wine in his glass swirl in an eternal loop as he tipped the glass back and forth.

"Is that heresy I detect in your words, Esmeraude?" He finally asked, tone cool and laced with threat.

"Never." She gushed. "No one is as loyal as I."

Saphir grumbled from his place at the table, and Rubeus directed a venomous glare at her.

Brushing off her words, Demando looked to his wife. "My love, your thoughts?"

Pride swelled in her breast at the term of endearment. He could have had any woman he so desired, and he chose _her._ For a moment, it was almost enough to bay the uncertainty that flourished in her head. But, soon the little fiend had found its place ruling her thoughts once more, and she shyly offered: "I'm not ready."

"Then you have your answer." He declared. Violet eyes, little pools brewing with triumph, flickered back to the subordinate whose shoulders were hunched and whose head was ducked to hide the scarlet that bloomed on her cheeks.

A little murmur of agreement was all that came from her lips.

Victorious, Demando settled back in his chair and smirked, satisfied. He locked gazes with his wife and tipped his glass in her direction, winking.

It should have been enough. His love and all the glory and grandeur that accompanied it should have been enough. He could quiet a room with a single glance, and would happily do so if she desired. She could ask for an entire planet to be razed, and he would never think twice about her request. He would hand her his bleeding heart if it were the only way to prove his love. If he knew about the fears that festered within her, he would force everyone to smile at her and offer infinite pleasantries and be merry, welcoming, every time she entered a room.

And it was that thought that made her recognize that perhaps she truly didn't belong.

* * *

 _Crimson light enveloped her, suspending her in an ocean of blood. All at once she felt her spine snap in two and her muscles lose their resolve and all the thoughts in her mind empty into the air around. Silken and strong, tendrils woven from a black widow's web curled themselves around her appendages, and she found herself little more than a limp marionette doll in the hands of a puppet master._

 _Mortal ichor bathed her in red, staining her clothing with deep and tortured hues, melding sullied fabric to flesh. Cunning, the fiend permeated the cloth and skin barrier and leaked into her veins, slipping into crevices between tissue and blighting her gentle form. The insuperable plague festered in its new home, feasting on marrow and muscles, drinking her blood ravenously. And all poisoned and betrayed, her flesh invited the wicked agent into her heart, her core._

 _All at once it overtook her, seducing her soul and tarnishing the golden cage it lived in and staining her very essence a deep, sensual shade of red. It forced itself into her heart, slipping into the cage and locking the door from the inside. Content, it curled up into itself, and comfortably tucked away in its prison, it began to ache with debauchery and darkness._

* * *

Her nightly serenade was the relentless whisper of uncertainty in her head. Seething, it filled her with endless fears: she wasn't good enough for them to accept, her resolve in not having a child was unfounded, her husband would grow tired of her antics and leave her for a more accommodating woman.

 _But haven't I accommodated you enough, agreeing to live in such a harsh place?_

She never understood why, especially when she looked out into the inky void beyond the terrace doors, her husband had chosen Nemesis as the capitol of his galactic empire. There were planets far more temperate than their current home, including the damned Earth that wavered between being mostly unpleasant and slightly uninhabitable. At least on that planet there were things to see: ruins of a once-magnificent palace seemingly crafted entirely out of glass, a sky mostly eclipsed by smog but that offered occasional glimmers of blue, little blades of green amidst the ocean of obsidian monoliths.

 _"This place used to be beautiful?" She inquired, on a rare visit._

 _"Once, but it was very sick." He replied at length. "I had to destroy it to stop the plague from spreading."_

Even in decay, it was undeniably more beautiful than Nemesis, which was hardly anything more than shadows shrouded in darkness. Often, she wondered what it was like in its prime, before her husband laid waste to the land, and why he never considered the possibility of restoring it to its former glory.

 _"Why do we continue to stay here if there's a whole galaxy of planets that is ours for the taking?"_

 _"I grew up here."_

 _"And I grew up on..."_

She always hit that hole in her memory if she thought back far enough. If she dared explore what lie beyond a memory of her waking up in bed the morning her life changed, she would find a precipitous cliff that opened up into an endless, gaping chasm where nothing existed but eternal night. When she had previously voiced her concerns, Saphir had said that she was of fragile health and had most likely lost her memories as a part of the nasty side effects of an illness. Still, she wondered if perhaps there was something more to the story than he was letting on, but—

The door leading to the adjoining bathroom swung open. In the doorway, white locks dripping with water, Demando stood with a towel loosely hanging from his hips. "Did you miss me?"

"Always." She answered, earnest.

A pleased grin playing on his lips, he crossed the room with ease, arriving at the bed in only a few seconds. Easing himself onto the side, he ran a hand through his white mane and gently shook the water from his locks. Droplets soared, falling to the violet sheets below.

From underneath the covers, she crawled and breached the barrier of space between them, tackling him from behind. Serenity curled her arms around his shoulders and buried her face into the hollow of his neck, peppering his skin with feather-light kisses. Cool beads of water dripped onto her neck and bare shoulders, evoking whispers of chills that slid across the surface of her skin and murmured in her muscles. She felt his hands claim hers, all cold and rigid, so inhuman. He was her perpetual winter: forever cold and white on the exterior, beautiful and dangerous, hiding a realm of warmth that slept beneath.

"Esmeraude," He broke the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. "She's just irritable."

"And jealous too, even after all of this time." She murmured against his skin.

His hands had become warm, or she had grown used to the frost swathing them; she was never sure what exactly broke the spell of frost that had claimed him.

"Are you upset, though, with me for wishing to wait?"

He grew still in her arms. Unwinding himself from her grasp, he turned to face her, bringing a hand to her cheek. His palm was ice against the warmth of her flesh, and still, even with six years time to grow accustomed to the sensation, she struggled to bay the cringe that threatened to possess her body.

"I could never be upset with you, my love." He insisted. Violet eyes held all of the softness and warmth that his body lacked. "But I hope that you'll reconsider. Soon."

Brushing the pad of his thumb across the supple skin of her cheek, he placed a gentle kiss on the inky crescent nestled between her brows.

Guilt flirted with her resident uncertainty, mingling with one another until an awful, aching brew throbbed in her chest. He would be so disappointed with her, hate her, even, if he knew the nature of her reservations. As he pulled back the coverlets and guided her down onto the sheets, she couldn't help but let a new but all too lofty fear nag at her. Winter he may have been in his penchant for apathy, but winter he was in his capacity for ruthlessness. Would all of the love in the universe protect her from him if he suddenly decided her obstinacy was vexing?

The dim candlelight perished as he settled next to her beneath the sheets. He draped an arm across her waist, a motion usually so comforting, but now practically suffocating. The weight resting upon her was but a physical manifestation of all of the wicked storms of fear in her head.

Immersed in total darkness, she was left staring at the one thing that she could still see: those violet eyes that seemed to glow even in the realm of night. Again, they were a usual comfort that now seemed so menacing. The eyes of a predator, not a lover, who seemed capable of devouring her with a single gaze.

And to add insult to injury, in the darkness of her mind, there was a little whisper of water against sand.

 _Usagi._

* * *

 _Catatonic. Wounded. The butterfly was in his arms, bleeding ichor all over his clothes, his skin, his wicked heart. Gold weakly assaulted all_ — _her last pitiful fight_ — _slathering the sleeves of his jacket, eclipsing the lavish embroidery encasing his chest, spilling onto the floors below. Crimson ribbons dripped off her body and fluttered in the false breeze around them, taunting him with the idea of wings._

 _The very things she no longer possessed._

 **End**

This will probably shape up to be one of my stranger stories, so I'm interested to see what everyone thought. If you would please take a moment to review, I would greatly appreciate it! See you next time!


	2. Fractured

I could not resist writing another chapter. Enjoy!

 **Sunder**

 **II: Fractured**

Gray. Soft and timid and fickle. It was the first color that demanded to be seen each time she opened her eyes and greeted the waking day, the last she beheld when twilight turned nightfall.

The morning was no different than the ones that preceded it or the ones that would come after. With the faintest of chills slipping in through the coverlets and kissing her skin, she woke to the sight of the ivory ceiling and matching walls whose shades were muted by the ubiquitous filter of gray. It was not entirely pleasant, the dullness that seemed to pervade every last inch of the room, but still preferable to the eternal night that had once suffocated her when the room was still permitted to exist in its natural state. She was quite pleased with herself, still, for managing to argue that brooding walls of Jakokuzuishou did not a lovely bedroom make.

"Good morning." Demando greeted as soon as he first noticed her stir.

Gently, he rolled her onto her side, so that she was facing him. Always, she first noticed his eyes: brilliant violet, never touched by the gray. And quite alert too, as if sleep had never befell him. Sometimes she wondered if perhaps he never slept at all and just watched over her through the night, warding off any predators that dare lurk in the shadows.

"Good morning." She offered a slightly dazed smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough." He replied. "And you, my love?"

Cold, as to be expected, his hand came to rest on the side of her head, thumb flirting with the skin of her temple. Even with the thick blanket of golden strands separating his frozen flesh from her delicate scalp, frost still found a way to slip through the crevices in between her tresses and take up residence on her warm skin. The resulting shiver made her body tremble, but quickly he calmed her form with a few languid strokes of his hand.

"Perfectly, as usual." She beamed.

Pleased with her answer, he presented her with a warm smile of his own, a common occurrence when they were alone, a rare commodity in the presence of others. Carefully but aimlessly, Demando took to arranging the strands of hair that framed her face, the cool pads of his fingers grazing her skin every so often.

Uncomfortable comfort, she always thought of most things that he did for her. Gentle hands touched her, but were always laced with winter. Cooperation he won for her, but at the cost of forced acquiescence of those around.

 _You wouldn't have to do these things if I belonged._

"Six years, today." His fingertips skimmed the side of her neck, their innate temperature such a contrast to the furnace of blood breathing beneath.

To temper the chill, she brought her own hand over his, hoping for once that his body's cool stubbornness might recede. "Eight if we count our courtship."

"Nine if we acknowledge the year I spent pursuing your affection." He grinned playfully.

"You were quite relentless." She laughed.

Forcing an arm between her waist and the sheets below, he curled the appendage around her abdomen and reeled her in to where there foreheads were but a breath away from one another's. "I thought that first dance made you as smitten as I was."

"As usual, you're giving yourself too much credit." Serenity teased. "I danced with quite a few men that night. You were hardly anything special."

Feigning injury, he let a frown eclipse the smile dancing on his lips. "You wound me, my love. Truly."

"Come now," She cupped his cheeks, resting her forehead against his own despite the uncomfortable cold that washed over her. "I chose you in the end. _Only you._ "

Softly, Serenity claimed her husband's lips. The hand that had taken up residence on her neck instantly slid to the base of her skull, fingers tangling with her locks. Around her waist, still, his arm tightened its hold, bringing her torso flush against his own. Again her contrast, he crushed his lips against hers, as if the kiss was the last they would ever share. Impulsive, passionate, a worthy force in everything he ever did: all qualities that only seemed to magnify in her presence. It never ceased to amaze her of how quickly he could lose himself in a moment.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and his hands wandered, pawing at the thin straps of her nightdress. He broke their kiss, only to move his lips to the burning flesh of her neck. She shuddered, half in pleasure, half from the relentless cold, as he pressed kisses into her skin and explored her form with his hands.

Lost together, neither individual noticed the knock on their bedroom door, until their unexpected guest was occupying the entryway.

"Oh." Esmeraude's nose crinkled as she beheld the couple.

A look of annoyance passed over Demando's features as he begrudgingly tore himself away from his wife, but it was quickly lost to the apathy that ultimately reigned.

"Is it important?" He all but snapped.

"A man has requested an audience with her." She lazily motioned towards Serenity.

"A man? What does he want?" Violet eyes narrowed.

"He didn't say. Only that he wishes to meet with the Queen."

"Fine." Demando relented. "But this... _visitor_ will entertain both of us."

Her mission fulfilled, Esmeraude turned on her heel, seething with envy, and fled the room that held the man she so desperately loved and the woman she so desperately hated.

Sighing, wholly frustrated, Demando pushed himself up into a sitting position, offering a hand to his wife to help her rise as well. The soft coverlets pooled at their waists, exposing his bare torso and her covered, but nonetheless cold, one to the biting air. She had half the mind to return to the warmth of their bed, and knew he would not object to doing so either, but was aware of the consequences that could arise should someone important wish to see her and be stood up.

"We'll continue this later." She assured, stroking his shoulder and brushing her lips against his cheek.

"If this isn't important, I'll kill him." He sighed and rose from the bed.

Though she laughed at his common joke as she usually did, she honestly wondered that if perhaps sometimes he wasn't joking.

* * *

 _Falling in an endless chasm of ink. Slowly, surely, the darkness was eclipsing the fairness of her skin and swallowing her whole. Her heart, her blood, her mind had already been laid waste to, so it was only fair that the rest of her should be beautifully destroyed as well. It tore at her, shredding her flesh until she was but a sum of parts suspended in the infinite black void with voices all around begging her to give in. And with nothing left in her to fight for the remaining morsels of herself, she conceded._

 _Threads began to stitch her into foreign fabric until she became one with a dastardly masterpiece. The inky abyss released her into a darkly whimsical world, and without her knowledge, she was thrust onto a chessboard, ready to play a game that would soon consume her._

* * *

So cold, but angry still. She looked to her husband, who sat in his throne, stiff, and knew that any minor annoyance or provocation would be a war on his mood. Serenity prayed that whomever her visitor was would be mindful of his tenuous temperament and graciously bear the aggression he was sure to exercise.

In her own throne, she fidgeted, still unaccustomed to occupying such an intimidating article of furniture and the accompanying title. Never one for politics, it was rare for her to be anything more than a wall fixture at events and even more rare to be requested by other nobles and subjects alike. Her husband was the monarch in existence, well-acquainted with every last element of government and rule, practically fashioned from uncontested power, while she was the monarch in title: a butterfly of autumnal stained glass wings and delicate nature.

Perhaps that day, however, was a deviation from her normal grandeur. Whereas she frequently haunted the corridors in ensembles torn from the pages of a storybook, she had only been granted a measly amount of time to dress that morning. A simple, but nonetheless luxurious, gown of softest rouge graced her form with a gossamer capelet of an even lighter shade secured around her frail shoulders to shield her from the cold as best it could.

It seemed even colder, too, than it normally was, as if winter had decided to fall upon the throne room. And in a way it had; out of the corner of her eye, she watched her husband's fist curl into itself, knuckles turning a ghastly shade of white, and then release but moments later, skin adopting a familiar alabaster tone.

"This man dares to arrive unannounced and can't be bothered to show up on time." He growled.

In hopes of placating him, she folded her hand over his clenched fist. "I'm sure there's a reason why he's late."

Maybe there was, maybe there wasn't. As powerful as ever, Demando's words seemed to summon the man from the depths of which he came. In unison, the doors parted, unveiling the visitor and the entourage of guards that had no doubt been ordered to shadow his every move. Impassively, they prodded him forward with the pointed tips of their spears, some with weak magic too, and in response he shuffled forth into the den of the beast.

The first thing she noticed about the man was that he hardly looked appropriate for a palace, but was perhaps not the dirtiest individual she'd ever laid eyes on. His appearance teetered between simple and disheveled; one might consider his modest overcoat a step towards refinery in thought, but poor in execution, for it did harbor its fair share of dust and frayed threads. His trousers, too, were of similar status: not quite unkempt to be deserving of the title 'ragged' but hardly the lavish garments her eye was used to entertaining.

His features, however, were perhaps a step in the right direction. Not particularly foul, she felt comfortable remarking that he was rather handsome, if slightly boyish in his looks. A few years younger than herself, he possessed a full head of unruly auburn curls and anxious hazel eyes. His skin was a lovely shade of caramel with a host of freckles blended in, as well as an occasional wrinkle or two on his forehead and around his eyes. And, whether from discomfort or burden, he was hunched over ever so slightly and possessed an awkward, almost painful looking gait.

Curiously, she regarded him as he took cautious steps towards the pair of thrones before him, head bowed sightly, but to where his eyes were still visible. They darted around far too often for her liking, but still she felt that he was a rather endearing little creature.

"Majesties," he offered a shaky bow and fell to his knees.

"Good morning—" Serenity began to say, but was cut off by her husband.

"Your business, boy?" He inquired coolly.

"Ah-uh, yes." He stammered. "I've come with a gift for the Queen."

His bony fingers dove into the pocket of his coat, emerging with a threadbare handkerchief folded around a mystery item. He raised his eyes, meeting Serenity's gaze sheepishly, before beginning to unwrap the gift. "I found this in one of my village's shops. A curator told me that this had once belonged to the Queen, and insisted that I should return it to her, er...to you."

Carefully, he peeled back the last layer of cloth concealing the item. With the white curtain gone, an unassuming locket rested in his palm. Of tarnished silver, it was perhaps once shaped like a star and served a function as being a timepiece, but had clearly outlived those days; the face bore a gaping crack and the second hand was nothing more than a broken branch of a tree rattling around in the compromised glass prison.

She could never recall owning such an item, nor could she imagine herself losing something important enough to require being returned—though that enormous hole in her memories reminded her that there was much she didn't know about her past. Still, she began to rise to accept it, but was interrupted by Demando, who flew from his seat.

Shock and fury among a host of other emotions had razed his icy exterior, taking her aback and long enough for him to act without her interference. Thrusting his hand forth, he snarled a curse at the boy, and violet waves sliced through the air towards him. Pure, unfettered power screamed as it connected with the boy's abdomen and sent his body hurtling back towards the closed doors. With a deafening crack, his cranium and spine slammed against the marble doors. His body collapsed in a limp heap on the floor below, leaving an angry streak of blood dripping down the ivory stone.

Horrified, Serenity rose from her own throne and seized Demando's arm.

"Why did you do that?" She cried.

He turned towards her, violet eyes ablaze with hatred, lips curled into a wolfish snarl, black crescent supplanted by that unsettling third eye. "You may be blind to people's malicious intentions, my love, but I am not. That _thing_ is enchanted. _Poisoned._ "

She looked to the pocket watch that lie broken on the floors, chain snapped in two, face a mosaic of glass shards, silver dented and warped beyond repair. Though she could not be sure that the item had ever been hers, she felt a pang of sorrow for the irreversible state of disrepair the item was in. A part of her wanted to collect the fractured watch and retire it to her jewelry box amongst other beloved pieces, but Demando snuffed that desire with his next act.

A halo of violet surrounded the watch and the fallen handkerchief that it had come in, reuniting the pair and subsequently delivering the clump of fabric and metal to her husband's palm. As if it had personally vexed him—and in a way it had—he glared at the concealed watch and slid it into the pocket of his slacks.

Stunned, still, Serenity stared at him as ice claimed his features once more, sealing all of his fury beneath a veil of apathy. He raised chin, narrowing his eyes and appearing far more arrogant and ruthless than usual, and delivered his terse orders. "Get him out of my sight."

The guards collected the broken but still breathing boy, ferrying him out of the throne room with little word. She watched as crimson droplets dripped from his auburn curls and onto the floor below, forming a punctuated and abstract trail of red. The mere thought of it being the boy's blood made her stomach churn.

She looked back to Demando, who stood with his hands folded behind his back, the slightest hint of a smirk prodding at the corners of his lips, a faint sadistic glimmer twinkling in his eyes.

"He'll make wonderful entertainment for tonight's dinner, won't he?" Her husband mused.

Guilt bloomed in her chest again, not the familiar type that she had hosted for a while, but one reserved specifically for the boy whose torture had only begun. Never as ruthless as her husband, the guests were still of malevolent souls and would not hesitate if offered to indulge in pleasure of a violet type. And the White King would gleefully present them a night to satisfy their desires and humanity's nightmares for ages to come in his current mood.

Perhaps if she did not love him so, she would have cowered before him in fright. Still, when he held his hand out to her, and she took it, she wondered if she was obeying him out of fear or out of love.

Or if the emotions had begun to become indistinguishable.

* * *

 _Hollow. Healed. The butterfly was cocooned in tendrils of shadow, trapped in a dark world if only for the time being. He watched as the inky tide swept over her form, erasing every last trace of who she was as it would footprints on the shoreline. Her hair lost its luster, her eyes that blue he had obsessed over. The crescent on her forehead dissipated, the bloom of crystal resting on her breast shattering into thousands of pieces._

 _But slowly, everything returned. Gold infused itself back into every last strand of hair, ocean returned to her gaze. Her crescent revisited her brow once more, only to invert and absorb the darkness around. And shadows fled into the crystal shards, stitching the bloom back together until it was whole but entirely powerless._

 _Her metamorphosis complete, the cocoon shattered, dropping her limp body into his arms._

 **End**

You can look forward to a tragic and traumatic feast ahead, courtesy of our resident White Prince and his court of villains! I do hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter, and, as always, would love to see what everyone thought! If you'd leave a review, it would make me extremely happy! Thanks for reading!


	3. Resilience

**Sunder**

 **III: Resilience**

 _"Power comes from darkness." Demando reminded. He loomed over her from behind with a hand draped on her shoulder and the other flush to her abdomen. "If you want any of that power to be yours, you have to give it something in return."_

 _She was trapped in that dark corridor within the deep recesses of her mind, tethered to the conscious world only by her husband's hands and the shallow, hissing breaths that slipped past her teeth. The space around her was empty, full of that same pitch and hollow black that swallowed all but the things primeval and unholy—things just like the door that stared back at her from the shadows. This was the face of the Jakokuzuishou—the only one she had ever seen—and behind it, creatures were straining against their shackles, begging for release with the sibilant whisper of their claws against wood, howling in displeasure when the barrier remained still. Her own body was just as unwavering as she kept her gaze level with the crystal-studded carvings on the door and felt for the grooves in the stone wall at her back._

 _Only four years of conscious memory, and still humanity's demons had given her enough darkness to make her both vulnerable to and highly desired by the nefarious entity. Though her husband's cool voice from beyond instructed her to give in, Serenity probed her barricade for any weaknesses and was relieved to find that there were none._

 _It was not worth it; she had spent years forging a fortitude that could withstand the most fearsome internal storms. Imprisoned, her jealousy of Esmeraude; her discontent with having no past; and her frustration with being constantly surrounded by people who could not understand that tragedy, lie dormant. Her hard-earned happiness was worth more than whatever power the Jakokuzuishou could offer, and she strained against the seemingly insuperable gravity of the bond until it began to crumble beneath the weight of her resolve. Quietly, she slipped back into her conscious mind, eyes full of defiance as she beheld the intact vase across from her._

 _"I have nothing it wants." She lied, when what she truly meant to say was that she had nothing she was willing to surrender to it._

 _They had only been married for months, but she knew well what the sudden tensing of her husband's body against her own meant. It was as if time itself had frozen him, had afforded him the time to consider his next course of action and carefully measure his response. "Then you create something it wants and something you can control. It doesn't have to be real. Just something that can make you feel strongly long enough."_

 _"What do you think about?" Was her evasive inquiry as her imagination began to conjure horrible images. Green flashed in her mind's eye—bright, emerald green against her lover's porcelain skin—before she forced her gaze to that of her husband. In her current position, she could see little, but the sudden, rare and genuine anguish in his eyes was unmistakable. She followed them to that vase; without warning, it shattered, hurtling thousands of tiny glass shards into the dark night beyond._

 _"I think about losing you."_

* * *

"You scared it." Serenity frowned as the moth darted off the moment Rubeus appeared beside her on the terrace.

"Big deal. Those damned things are everywhere at this time of year. I even found one of them in my shower this morning." He grumbled.

 _"Big deal,"_ she tossed his words right back at him with a mischievous grin. "You know what they say about moths and flames. Besides, I'm sure that's the least unsightly thing that's been in your shower."

"Why you—" He lunged at the petite woman. Before she could scurry out of the way, his hands were on her, delivering a series of light jabs to her ribs.

Against the dark Nemesian night, Rubeus was a brilliant conflagration. The lights burning on either side of the terrace doors gilded the fiery tips of his hair, the sharp points of his canines, and the deep reds and golds of his military regalia as he attacked her from all sides. She imagined that this was what it was like to be caught in the center of a wildfire; everything was burning—her lungs, her sides, her arms. Helplessly, she swatted at his hands, laughs bubbling from her throat, and pleaded with him to stop.

Mischief danced in his eyes as he continued his assault, finally landing a startling blow to her ticklish seventh rib. Breath left her lungs in the form of a wheezing laugh as she crumpled on herself and plummeted to the floor with pale blue and ivory silk swirling around her. Before her, Rubeus dropped to a knee, extending a single callused hand toward her. He was all wolfish grins and twinkling eyes as he gloated: "I win."

Serenity took his hand, but as he rocked back on his ankles to haul her off the ground, she hurled her weight back with as much strength as she could muster. The momentum sent Rubeus toppling onto his stomach right next to her, with a loud _oof._

"Well there's a tiger." He chuckled, propping himself up on an elbow. "I don't suppose you're interested in taking a little of that fire inside and putting some girls in their place. Triton's consorts are as chatty as ever, speculating your whereabouts with all sorts of lies. Rumor has it that your marriage is on the rocks and that you're...not feeling well."

His accompanying gesture coaxed a blush onto her cheeks. Smoothing her palm along her stomach (truthfully, she wasn't sure if it was proof for others or herself, at this point), she asked: "Why is everyone obsessed with me becoming pregnant?"

"Beats me." Rubeus shrugged. One of his gloved fingers picked at a loose thread sprouting from the crimson fabric of his jacket; with a silent snap, it broke away from the rest of the strand, and the summer breeze ferried it off into the night. "Although, from what I heard in the corridors this afternoon, all isn't well in paradise."

Of course it would come up eventually. Staring up at the starless sky, she felt silly for thinking that evading the party and the rest of her family would keep the fresh ghosts at bay. Even all these hours later, when she closed her eyes she could picture those ruby droplets of blood; the boy's pleading hazel eyes; the malevolent glaze radiating from her husband.

"You know, even though you love him, you don't have to agree with everything he does. None of us would ever ask you to do that, even Demando."

 _You don't know that,_ she wanted to snap, but held her tongue. There were few moments when Rubeus' fire ever dipped to little lambent flames, when he was transparent and _vulnerable;_ few outside of their family would ever know Demando's first in command as anything other than a beast of flame and darkness, but he volunteered his heart, his compassion, so readily to her. Silently, Serenity reached for his hand, feeling his leather-clad fingers lace through her own.

If she could trust anyone with the secrets festering like wounds in her heart, it would be Rubeus. Serenity knew that if she told him, he would not whisper a word of it to anyone, no matter how horrible they were. They would be safe, _she_ would be safe, and perhaps the burden of them would ease. Perhaps, once aired, they would even go away.

"Can I—"

"Well it would seem that the real party is out here." A silky voice mused.

Sitting up, Serenity met her husband's gaze. Half concealed by one of the doors, Demando finally slipped out onto the terrace, holding a plate that boasted a thick slice of chocolate cake in one hand and a tiny fork in the other.

Rubeus hauled himself off the ground with a cacophony of groans and rolled his eyes. Without a greeting, he grumbled: "I know, I know. 'Get lost, Rubeus.'"

And just like that, he left the monarchs staring sheepishly at one another.

It was as if they were nine years younger again—finally seeing each other after hours of stealing covert glances through pillars and partygoers. Serenity found it so difficult to remain convicted in her anger when he began striding towards her, rich cape cascading from the silver epaulettes adorning his shoulders, white hair floating around his handsome face, and violet eyes intense but remorseful still. Against the deep navy night, the White King was as timeless and unearthly as he had appeared in that ballroom all those years ago—a winter that nothing could ever erase. So enchanting, so devastating; lust began to lull her into a trance, but his words sliced through the haze and reeled her into reality.

"Peace offering?" A corner of his lips quirked into a smile as he extended the plate toward her.

She was still on the ground with the gossamer layers of her skirts pooling around her. His violet eyes were guileless, unwavering, as he lowered himself onto his knees before her—a subtle show of supplication, and one that made her blood rush.

"I'm angry with you." She said, but fleeting resolve left her words sounding hollow.

"As you should be. I was not kind to you this afternoon." He agreed.

A light breeze gusted through the terrace, carrying with it the lingering remnants of her anger. With a loud sigh, she stuck her hands out. Cold—his hands, the plate—as he deposited the gift in her awaiting palms, a wide grin baring his pearly teeth. The moment her eyes fell upon the cake, she noticed the thick, uneven layer of frosting cresting the top. Brow furrowed but amused all the same, she let out a curt laugh: "Don't tell me that you made this yourself."

"I might have added some additional chocolate from adjacent pieces." He shrugged.

"You're terrible." She giggled, imagining the regal man hunched over the dessert table, carefully scraping frosting onto the slice of cake before her and slinking off before he could be caught by their guests.

"I am." Demando agreed as he watched her sink the tines of the fork into the mound of pilfered chocolate and take her first bite. He reached for a strand of her golden hair, which was loose and spilling down her shoulders and onto the floors, bringing it to his lips. "You must think that I am so cruel for how I acted today."

She had never been more thankful for a slice of cake, how it saved her from having to lie to him. But her eyes must have told him enough, for he dropped his own to the ground, contrite as she had ever seen him.

"When I realized what that boy was going to do with that locket, I-I couldn't..." His voice tapered off into silence, and his violet eyes darted up to hers. Anguish. Raw agony. Serenity could not remember ever seeing him so tortured. With a clink of the plate against the ground, she abandoned her dessert and reached for his hands. The White King's jaw quivered, and his words came tumbling out. "I couldn't let him take you. Not him, not anyone, not ever again."

 _Ever again?_ She wanted to ask, but her attention was wrested away by his following statement.

"I would not be able to go on." He tipped his chin back and looked solemnly at the starless sky. "You are everything to me."

She loved him. In a world that seemed to be slowly crumbling beneath her heels, that much she knew. All of the plaguing uncertainty, the intrusive whispers in the dark seemed to fade in that moment. She had nothing in this world—no past, no blood family. She had nothing in this world except for this man before her; the man who was as cold and ruthless as a winter storm, but who loved her more than anything in a universe that belonged entirely to him. It should have been, no—it _was_ enough.

The truth, every last one of the bitter words that had been straining against her lips for months, finally escaped in a single sentence. "I'm afraid that I don't belong here."

"None of us do." He smiled. Her hands were still enveloped in his own, and he rose from the ground, gently pulling her up onto her feet. Bracing one hand on the railing, he cornered her against the scrolling stone barrier, his other hand holding hers against his heart. "But we all belong here."

Anticipation burned in the small gap between their bodies. Her already shallow breaths seemed to collapse in her lungs as Demando slowly guided her hand upwards and hooked her arm around his neck, his own finding and curling around her waist. Warm, his breath ghosted over her lips, igniting the nerves running along her neck and back. His lips were so close; she trembled against him, full of pent up expectancy. So close...

"—absolutely delightful. And here I thought the war criminal was unrivaled. His highness has truly outdone himself this time."

The monarchs had no time to retreat from their embrace before another couple paraded out onto the balcony.

Dripping with jewels and embellishments, the Prince of Triton emerged from the golden glow of the party with one of his many consorts draped on his arm. The young woman balked at the Nemesian royals, but her partner merely waved his crimson fingertips in acknowledgement. The hot blood burning in Serenity's flushed cheeks froze the moment a ruby droplet plummeted from his fingers to the ground. Horrified, she turned back to her husband, whose wide eyes told her enough.

"Serenity!" He called, but she was already flying, soaring past the doors and into the ballroom.

Gathered around the center of the room, the sumptuous guests lingered in a loose circle, clinking glasses in rowdy toasts, gorging themselves on the remnants of the buffet, and observing the show unfolding before them. As she pushed her way through the labyrinth of ostentatious costumes and jewels of the nobility, all Serenity could hear was a cacophony of drunken laughter, above which blood-curdling screams rose.

 _Please,_ she prayed to whatever entity was listening in that moment.

Finally, she exploded into the center of the floor with whatever stones and baubles had snagged on her skirt skittering across the sparkling floors. Instantly, her wide eyes met those that she had once thought hazel but could now see were jade green, rimmed with grime and unshed tears.

It was the boy, bowed on his knees before a consort of Triton, around whom thick tendrils of water curled. Oblivious, the woman flourished her hands and the water responded in suit, collecting above her head until it was in the shape of a lance, pointed tip aimed towards her victim. Helplessly, the boy strained against his restraints, coughing blood and phlegm onto the tiles beneath him.

"Please," was his strangled gasp. The consort barked at him to be quiet, but his attention was fixed onto Serenity. "Please. You have to help me."

Hundreds of prisoners had been in his very shoes, and she had never lifted a finger. With an aching heart, she had always acquiesced and allowed Rubeus—who had just appeared beside her—to lead her away from the hall. The first few times had tormented her with nightmares and restless nights, but she had grown to only lose a few hours of sleep by now. If she turned away, he would become nothing more than a faraway nightmare in little time, one that paled in comparison to what already tormented her. And besides, she had no powers, was what she reminded herself; what made it easy to walk away.

"Come on." Rubeus' hand drifted to her lower back and nudged her forward.

"No." The boy cried weakly as she stepped in the direction Rubeus directed her toward.

"There's nothing you can do." The fiery general was all sympathy as he reminded her of the reality of the situation.

She swallowed, took another step away.

" _Please!_ Usagi, don't let them do this to you!"

 _Usagi._ Her steps wavered, tapering into a full-on hesitation. She had heard that name once before. Then, it had been little more than a whisper in the night, but now it was coming from a real person's mouth; someone who said it with such a striking pain and familiarity that she couldn't help but steal a glance over her shoulder.

His jade eyes were wild with desperation, words flowing ceaselessly from his scarlet mouth along with the blood. "Usagi, please remember yourself. Remember me. It's me, Shingo. _I'm your brother!"_

Gravity. Insuperable gravity. It was something she had resisted the pull of for nine years, and the very thing that was dragging her back into that corridor now. She remembered everything about it so clearly: the stone wall guarding her demons, the chilling darkness, the door looming before her. On the other side, the creatures she feared snarled and strained, pleading to be released.

 _"Power comes from darkness."_

She had no powers, but plenty to surrender for them. Tension pulsed against her lower back, but instead of Rubeus' hand it was her own, trembling with adrenaline and urging her forth. She could not think, could only imagine the wall behind her crumbling and her darkness catching up to her, searing itself into her flesh, soldering itself to her bones. Every sense was bombarded with anguish. The gut-wrenching ache of jealousy as Demando disappeared into his office with Esmeraude on his heels. The echoing, hollow sympathies of anyone who learned that she had no memories of a life before Nemesis nine years before. The scent of ash as she fled out beyond the palace walls during those first few months and realized that there was a landscape that could mirror her emptiness after all.

Slow steps carried her towards the door until finally her hand was curled around the brass knob, twisting, unleashing whatever demons lie on the other side. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she threw the door open, surrendering in the ultimate sacrifice for a boy she did not even know but felt so obligated to protect anyways.

Breath slammed into her lungs as she was tossed back into consciousness. She saw her husband and the Prince of Triton lingering on the edge of the gathered crowd, just beyond the latter's malicious consort. The moment her husband's violet eyes met hers, she glowered at him, and the blood drained from his face.

 _Please._

A beam of violet-blue light sliced through the room and struck the consort of Triton in the chest.

 **End**

Ah, big reveal! Now that Shingo has entered the equation, things are sure to begin falling apart. I had a blast writing this chapter, especially since it features my first scene between Usagi and Rubeus, whose headcanon friendship I totally live for. I'm thrilled to explore their relationship more in depth, as well as the one between Usagi and Saphir in coming chapters. Just as a general update disclaimer: dancesport competition season is underway, and I'm also juggling a job and other writing projects. I worked on this chapter in tiny pieces over a few weeks and was pleased with how much more easily it came together than usual. Hopefully I can keep it up and continue the story in a somewhat timely manner; this is definitely one of my favorites!

Thank you all for tuning in to chapter three, and please leave a comment or two on your way out! See you soon!


End file.
